for Ogoniland
Let there not be stench.
Let the itch inside my skin quiet.
Let there be potable water.
Let there be sparrows and mudskippers.
Let us draw near in the making of fish
pepper soup, and in the sound of laughter
and infectious happiness. Let there not
be gas flare. Let the smell of my body
be the lushness of a green wetland.
Let my eyes be the children swimming
happily at the base of a living mangrove.
Let there be shrimps. Let the land crabs not die.
Let my fingers worry the periwinkles on
the shores. Let my mouth gather oysters.
Let there not be leakages. Let there not
be crude oil crawling on the water. Let the
coco-India be the whisper of a new day
from its sheath. Let industry come with
Babangida basin and garri. Let the canoes
and boats litter the riverbank. Let the fishnet
not break. Let there not be shallow waters
or rusty pipelines. Let a warm sleep be enough.
Let me be understood when I paddle the canoe
in search of mullets and tilapias. Let my patience
be rewarded. Let the rain come without acid or soot.
Let memory flash with silver sequins fastened
to my skin. Let the mangrove be a chandelier
of seeds. Let the trees not weep. Let me be clear:
I desire home as a child desires milk. As a taro
leaf bends toward the sun or rain, night and day.